Archive for December, 2005

I just can’t be bothered to get all aflutter about this one. Actually, I can hardly ever be bothered when it comes to this holiday on the heels of Christmas. It’s just so anticlimactic.

You’ve got all the bustle and hubbub of Christmas. The giving and getting of presents. The finding of trees. The unpacking of glass baubles. The baking of cookies and reunions of relatives and cross-country flights jam packed with winter coats and unfamiliar boots and squalling, squealing children.

And then suddenly it’s all over and you’re back at home and you toss the tree (which is now a veritable tinderbox) to the curb and all the baubles go back in their boxes and then you’re supposed to have one last hurrah with the bubbly and the countdown and the funny little hats and no one ever asks if Dick Clark is some kind of well-preserved zombie/vampire type creature.

I just can’t muster any excitement for it.

Truth be told, I always get a bit depressed this time of year. This end of a year. Everyone gets all hopeful with resolution and big plans for the new four-digit number but really, who are they kidding. They won’t have lost any weight or cleaned out the attic or stopped being so crabby with coworkers when the new year ends again. It’s just how we are. Who we are.

Don’t count me among the hopeless, though. I know this whole glittering new year is an important ritual, a bright shiny thing, for many. I get it. It’s just that I’d rather find my hope in the everyday kind of day, instead of load all my portent on this one winter night, on this one chime of clock, on this one midnight dream. There are so many others coming…

Oh, I’ve got plans. I’ve got resolutions. I’ve even squirreled a few predictions away. But I’ve had them all for quite awhile. And I’m not giving them up anytime soon.

So let them go on with their music video countdown and year in review broadcasts and 2006 predictions. I’m going to sit here in my living room with my cup of tea as if it’s any other night and tomorrow is any other day. Because it is, really. It just is.

-Lo, who will review 2005 just by saying that at this time last year, cinepoems were just an idea. Now there are six. Pause for the warm glow of pride… Four. Three. Two. One.

I haven’t celebrated Christmas at “home” for five years. That’s mostly because Boy and I have been busy making a home of our own here in San Francisco. So every Christmas we do the present thing and then throw the Loo in the Jeep and drive up (or down, depending on our mood) the coast to see what we can see.

Christmas at the beach. It’s better than snow.

But this year, we’re breaking with our little tradition and heading back into snow country…all the way back to Illinois. We’re going to spend the season with my parents, assorted grandparents and friends, and my most favorite sister.

See, said sister (who is also a Californian now) has been husband-less for over a year, since right after her wedding when her brand-new-husband was shipped off to Iraq. He won’t be home until next year, so we’re all going to attempt to make up for his absence by doing the big family Christmas gathering thing.

Truth be told, I’m excited to see a little snow. Not so excited about the accompanying cold (which I got my fill of in New York a couple of weeks ago), but everything else will make up for it.

Not one to break with tradition, I’ve managed to come down with my usual stuffy nose, sore throat, and hacking cough just in time to return to the homestead. (This happens *every* time I go back to Illinois.) So I’m celebrating the season with pocket packs of Kleenex and steaming mugs of TheraFlu. ‘Tis the season, after all.

And speaking of seasons of glitter and giving, I have a little something for my Internet world. A shiny new present that will be waiting for you all on Christmas Day, not under a tree, but here on this site.

M and I just finished editing our 6th cinepoem, “Object”, late last night. So it will be up in time for Christmas, on the cinepoems page.

So after you’re done with your stockings and cheer on Sunday, come visit me here. I promise you won’t have to wear any red sweaters or take any photos with a leering “Uncle” Bob under the mistletoe.

Mood: I love my life.
Drinking: Water to wash down the sour patch kids.

I’m far from home right now, sitting on the 30th floor and staring out at the lights of dowtown Manhattan. Boy and I took a spontaneous trip to NYC with some friends this week. Our excuse was to see Depeche Mode at Madison Square Garden (and those boys rocked the Garden pretty goddamn hard last night), but really, what excuse do you need to see New York in December?

So we packed our bags and found a condo to sublet for a few days and here we are. Boy and I spent most of the day today wandering the East Village, shopping for random fun shit like a green canvas cap with a red glitter handgun on it (for me) and some pinstriped pajamas (for him). We also stopped on Christopher Street to ogle some puppies in the window and purchase a punked-out plaid collar for the Loon. I love vacation shopping.

Actually, I just love New York. Especially at this time of year. As one of our New Yorker friends said yesterday, You can be all cynical and grouchy at the crowds and the tourists (of whom, admittedly, I am one) and the slush and the rush and then you round the corner and see the angels and the glittering tree in front of the Rockefeller Center and all of the sudden you’re all melty and soft inside. (H&M on Fifth Avenue gives me that feeling, too.)

It’s very cold here, though, and snowed a bit today. I won’t miss that part at all when we head back home to the green and the palm trees. Every time our friend M (also from SF) slides on the sidewalk ice, he yells out, “I LOVE San Francisco!”

So between the cinepoem editing (Object should be done and up before Christmas), and the real life busy-ness and the spontaneous jaunts to the East Coast, I have begun work on yet another huge and exciting project…Book Number Two!

It’s not a tease this time. I have a designer (the fabulous Kathy Azada), a photographer (the lovely Patti Monaghen), and I’m hard at work. This book will be more than double the size of Angel Skin and even more gorgeous than she was. It should be finished by the summer of 2006, if all goes well.

That’s all for now. I’m off to soak my tired toes so I can put on my boots again and hit SoHo tomorrow.